firewhiskey
by a beautiful catastrophe
Summary: it started with a bottle of firewhiskey. it ends with a bottle of "ecstasy", a silver blade and a letter.


**firewhiskey  
**_for Middy (angels are watching over you)._

thank you to Sam (MissingMommy) for beta reading this and pointing out all those dreadful mistakes, and thank you to Jenna (Memento Vivere) for telling me to get sleep after writing this at one in the morning.

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**i.**

It starts with a bottle of Firewhiskey.

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**ii.**

She is smiling. Laughing. Dancing. Swaying her hips to the bass-heavy music blaring loudly from the stereo.

"Hey, Luce," one of her friends call her. "You up for a challenge?"

Lucy tosses her golden hair over her shoulder, then smirks before sauntering over; she can never ever resist a challenge.

Her friend smiles widely and holds up a glass bottle. Inside it, is a deep amber liquid sloshing against the sides.

"It's Firewhiskey. Try it, I dare you to try and stay sober after the bottle. May I warn you though, it's as strong as hell, despite tasting like pure heaven — yes, I know I'm contradicting myself...also, when you feel like you desperately need more, I'd advise you stop drinking, because Firewhiskey has a reputation to make people do stupid things after that feeling..."

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**iii.**

Firewhiskey was exactly like her friend had told her.

Firewhiskey was both heaven and hell, a blessing and a curse.

Lucy had only drank a few sips when that feeling her friend had told her about hit her. It was like she couldn't stop drinking. It was like if she stopped drinking it would literally hurt.

It was like there was a fire where her heart should've been. A dying fire that she needed to kindle back to life. And the only way to do so was to drink more Firewhiskey. She needed that fire in her blazing hot and burning bright. She wanted, no— needed, to feel that heat.

She needed to feel each different hue of warmth, she needed to feel the crimson red, the brilliant vermillion, the burnt sienna and the fluorescent yellow.

Many would ask by this point how Lucy Weasley could feel colours, and the answer was, she just could. She was born that way. All she knew was when someone said a certain letter, she could match it with a certain colour.

Like the letter 'a' was supposed to be red. Like the word 'fire' was supposed to be a spectrum of red with a hint of sienna and gold.

That was just the way it was.

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**iv.**

Now, Lucy's fire was not dying away; it was fading away. There were only mere sticks and stones with the smallest of embers.

Her mind was telling her to just let the fire burn out, just stop drinking. Her mind told her, let the wind caress what was left of the fire in its light, silvery breeze and carry it away, never to be found again...

But her heart said otherwise. Her heart, her fire _yearned_ to be re-lit.

There was a panging in her chest, a longing...a longing for that fire to burn once more...

And then she just couldn't bear to feel the pain of the void in her chest, so she gave in to her heart, and took another sip.

Her fire burned bright once again.

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**v.**

By this time, Lucy has reached what she thinks is paradise, some sort of Elysium. She is high.

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**vi.**

With deliberately slow steps, she walks over to her cousin.

"Louis, tell me, do I look gorgeous?" she asks him, attempting a model-esque pose and a movie-star smoulder, clearly indicating she is drunk.

Louis smiles patronizingly, obviously amused at Lucy's antics.

"Well," he says, tapping his chin mock-thoughtfully, "What do you think?"

"I think," she begins loudly, "I am the most fabulous, amazing, sexy, gorgeous, pretty girl in the whole world."

Louis snorts at Lucy's declaration, which is met by her fierce glare. **  
**

"What, don't you think I'm pretty?" she asks crossly, placing her hands on her hips.

"I think you're—"

And suddenly, Louis can feel Lucy's Firewhiskey heavy breath ghosting over his face, her lips are dangerously close to his, her arms are wrapped around his neck...

Right now, Lucy and Louis are just two desperate teenagers with no self-restraint lost in a never ending ocean of friends, acquaintances, enemies, people — anyone and everyone, really.

Time seems to slow down, their lips are moving closer towards each other's...slowly, slowly...

Their lips meet.

And just like that, everything, including the lives that they previously lived, fell apart.

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**vii.**

Lucy's days of stardom are over.

Molly can't even look at her anymore. The only thing Dominique ever says to her anymore is "whore". James is silent. He doesn't hate her, and he doesn't exactly love her, but he understands her, because he knows she is feeling like how Lily felt before...before she took her own life. But since he is silent, he won't hurt her, but he won't help her.

Lucy isn't the most envied, fabulous, amazing, sexy, gorgeous, pretty, _popular _girl at Hogwarts anymore.

She's just that other Weasley that got so desperate that she snogged her own cousin.

Lucy's not perfect anymore, and just knowing that makes everything hurt, it makes her life not worth living.

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**viii.**

Louis knows he's not perfect.

He knows he's utterly insane, quick to judge and a hypocrite.

Hell, he's made up of flaws.

But really, everyone is, and even the most perfect people, the ones flashing you brilliant, pearly white smiles on the cover of Witch Weekly, are. Everyone is made up of flaws and there are no exceptions.

And really, the most perfect people are also the ones that are the _most messed up._

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**ix.**

"Tell me we're going to be okay," Lucy whispers to him. "Tell me."

"We will be okay," he lies to her.

Even though it will never be okay, Louis lies, because, hell, he's flawed and he thinks being flawed is a perfectly legitimate reason to lie.

Lucy just smiles and grasps his hand in hers.

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**x.**

It started with a bottle of Firewhiskey.

It ends with a bottle of "Ecstasy", a silver blade and a letter.

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**fin.**


End file.
